Silent Night
by WearTheMask
Summary: A watcher keeps vigil by the bedside of his dying friend. Please read and review.


Disclaimor: I don't own it.

Author's note: A really quick one shot I wrote to take a break from the humor I usually write. It was originally posted on my other pen-name. The beginning was written at midnight and the end was written in about ten minutes, so I don't promise that it's good, but please read and review.

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The room was silent. Too silent, mused those who passed it in mourning. Night had long since fallen and still they came, loyal subjects saying a last good-bye to their beloved king. Many had been born, lived, and died under his rule, but few knew or remembered what all he had done for them. No one was still alive who had seen the king's great battle, save the queen and two old friends.  
  
The doors to the room were held open with elaborately craved stones, and, from beside the bed, a lone figure watched the people make their way past the king's room. The moonlight streaming in caught in the king's silver hair, but nothing penetrated the black cloak of his watcher. A pale hand clasped the king's, almost reverently. The youthful archer fingers curled around the wrinkled aged ones in a child-like manner. In the starlight, tears glistened on the ivory skin.  
  
With nothing, but the bleak, eternal night stretching before him, the watcher's world-weary mind had nothing to do other than rove the many dream paths of his imagination. Most led him only to how he would say this final good-bye. He knew it must be said this night, ere the dawning of the gray, cold day. He would not be here when the king, at last, let go and moved beyond the circles of the world. He would depart long before the king woke and spoke his last words of hope to the grieving queen. He would not, by choice, be able to bear witness to the last exchange of their unfading love.  
  
He had put off thinking about this day for many long years, but now he could not hide from the bitter truth, this was the last time he would see the man he had so loved and admired. A soft sigh came from the bed and the king's tense face relaxed into a small smile. The watcher's long fingers gently caressed the king's care worn face and he sang a flowing lament in his elegant native tongue. _Aurë entuluva! Auta i lómë!_ ¹ For a moment, the king 's hand seemed to grasp his tighter, but the moment passed almost before he could register it.  
  
Somewhere in the majestic marble city, a bird sang. Even its voice was low and cheerless. The watcher had the brought the bird it had descended from to this city many years ago, after the Great War. He had helped one of his most beloved of friends rebuild the kingdom that was rightfully his and, from afar, he watched it prosper under his friend's merciful rule.  
  
Raising a trembling hand, he pushed back the hood of the cloak. Blonde hair fell gracefully over his shoulder and the tear stains on his cheeks only made his eyes bluer. He seemed to glow beneath the moonlight, like a distant star or soft candle right before it burned out. Many who passed marveled at the sight of him, not only at his beauty, but also at his mere presence in their part of the world. All the others of his kind had long since passed away over the wide sea. He had stayed only for the love his friend, but now, he would, at last, be joining his kindred on the far-side shore.  
  
He opened his mouth to speak and the murmuring in the hall died into silence. All wanted to hear what he had to say.  
  
"My dearest friend," his voice was barely audible, "long have we journeyed together. Many times have I fought, laughed, cried, and triumphed at your side. Now our paths must part. I dread leaving your side with the knowledge that I will never see you again, but this is the fate I know you have accepted and knowing that you do not fear it eases my mind. Farewell my friend. I know not what lies beyond the circles of this world, but may it bring peace to you."  
  
And with that, he stood and slowly, gracefully left the healing houses that could heal the weary, dying body of his oldest friend no more. He did not look back, but rode with his face turned ever toward Ithilien and the grey ship that he had built that was waiting there to carry him and another dear friend into the west where he would join the others who had already passed on.

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¹ :The night is passing! Day shall come again! 


End file.
